


frame the halves and call them brothers

by mitch23k



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: "can you believe i loved him once??" YEAH I CAN, Angst, Brothers, Gen, Period-Typical Homophobia, and he's an asshole so yeah, but her homophobia is canon so, cersei's awful in this but i love her i do i just had to write her how robert sees her, oh that reminds me, she's not portrayed great in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 06:24:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19126414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitch23k/pseuds/mitch23k
Summary: Once Renly defended Stannis, once Stannis defended Renly, and once Robert defended both of them.





	frame the halves and call them brothers

Renly liked to walk outside the castle and charm the smallfolk with his easy smiles and little japes. Stannis had insisted that he remain a good twenty feet away from the outer walls and stay with Ser Gawen at all times, which he could tell scared some of the smallfolk. 

Renly didn’t understand why Stannis had to be so tight-laced about this siege. He’d only been gone two months, but Robert would be back soon, he would smash Mace Tyrell with his glorious warhammer and bring Renly his favorite sweetmeats. He’d told Stannis as much the day earlier, but Stannis had just grunted and sent him to bed early. 

“Renly!” His cousin, little Lord Aemon Estermont came toddling over. He was a year older than Renly but was bit shorter, Renly noted with pride. He was only six, but taller than most boys his age. “Renly, my lady mother fashioned me a sword out a branch that fell over the wall yesterday. Do you want to play the Dragonknight?”

Renly only resisted rolling his eyes because Robert had told him he had to act the part of lord, despite Stannis, while he was gone. It would be rude to roll his eyes one of his bannerman’s sons, let alone at his coz. Aemon was forever wanting to pretend he was his namesake, Prince Aemon the Dragon Knight, swinging his fake sword around and protecting the Queen Naerys, who more often than not was played by some bored serving girl or a cousin. The serving girls were busy now, however, and Renly only had one girl cousin within Storm’s End at the moment, and she was one-and-twenty, hardly someone who could be convinced to play with children. 

“We can’t play Dragonknight,” Renly explained patiently, his arms crossed behind his back like how Stannis did when giving orders. “We don’t have a Naerys.”

Aemon thought for a moment, then grinned. “You could be Naerys,” he teased. “You’re already in silks.”

Renly laughed and shoved him gently, and they had a small, friendly squabble right there in the yard. Most people would have been embarrassed, but Renly liked having all the eyes on him. Plus, like Robert always said, Renly was well loved by both the nobles and common folk of the land, and most flashed him toothy smiles of approval when he won the fight. 

Ser Gawen helped his cousin to his feet. Aemon brushed off his pants and looked at Renly. “We could play come-into-my-castle, or horses,” he supposed, “but Dragonknight is ever so much more fun.”

“It is,” Renly agreed, and thought back to the warm feeling that had flooded him when everyone stared at him in the yard. “I suppose we can find someone else to be Morghil and I  _ can  _ play Naerys. Only because we don’t have any girls, of course.”

Ser Gawen cleared his throat. “My lords,” he said. “I don’t know if Lord Stannis would like this.” Renly knew Ser Gawen much preferred Robert to Stannis, but he was still to serve the acting lord.

Renly laughed. “Ser Gawen, Stannis doesn’t like  _ anything.  _ Please, oh please, let us play?”

Ser Gawen smiled. “I suppose.”

And so Renly donned a flour bag as long Targaryen hair, tied with a pink ribbon a grown common woman had offered with a charmed look, and cried out for his sweet white knight to rescue him from his evil brother. Ser Gawen, a few feet away, seemed fairly amused by the play. Aemon fought valiantly against the bemused Ser Harbert, great-uncle to them both, who was playing Ser Morghil. Of course, Aemon beat Ser Harbert because that’s how the songs went. Aemon strode over to Renly and gave him a circlet of twigs and named him the Queen of Love and Beauty. Renly laughed and leapt into his cousin’s arms, wrapped his arms around his neck. Some in the yard laughed and clapped. There wasn’t much entertainment in the castle barring Patchface, who’d always frightened Renly, so people were pleased with the display they put on, until Renly heard a voice yell  _ “What are you two doing!”  _

He craned his neck to see who it was but Aemon dropped him before he could. Renly hit the ground with a thud and scrambled to his feet. Was it the Tyrells? Had they come over the wall to kill him?

But it was just plain Stannis, face beat red and teeth grit. He glared down at Aemon and Renly with something akin to disgust. “Well?” he asked.

“Stannis,” Harbert said, stepping in between them with a kind, uncle-like smile on his face. “They were just playing.”

“Playing at being Targaryens while that family wants my brothers and myself dead?” Stannis questioned, his cold eyes still locked on Renly. People in the yard were looking away and whispering to each other. “Pretending to be a girl, embarrassing himself and our family?” Stannis pushed Harbert aside and clutched Renly’s chin, made him look him in the eye. “What would Robert say, Renly? Do you think he’d appreciate this little performance?”

“No,” Renly said quietly. Robert had hit Renly once for playing Jonquil and Florian with a bannerman’s daughter. They’d swapped clothes to make it even more fun. Robert had been furious. “He wouldn’t.”

“No,” Stannis said, snatching the flour bag off his head harshly. “And yet you did it anyway.” He looked at his little cousin. “Run off to your mother, Aemon.”

Aemon mouthed a sad  _ Sorry  _ to Renly and ran away. 

“Ser Gawen, you allowed this?” Stannis demanded. Renly studied his boots.

“Yes I did, my lord,” Ser Gawen said, annoyed. He crossed his arms. “It seems I erred in letting the children act as children. A thousand apologies.”

Stannis looked like he could have strangled the knight right then and there, but Harbert put his hand on Stannis’s shoulder gently. “Stannis,” he said, low. “I’ll see to it that Renly is disciplined. I’m sure you have more important things to be doing, my lord.”

For a moment, Stannis looked like he wanted to argue. But then he saw the truth in the statement and nodded. He looked at Renly. “You are never to play at being a Targaryen again. You are never to dress as a woman again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Renly said meekly.

“Very well.” Stannis stalked off. 

Renly blinked several times. It wouldn’t do to cry in front of the smallfolk. He was tempted to dash inside and make for his room, but his great uncle knelt before him and smiled softly. 

“It’s okay, my boy,” he said, ruffling his hair. “Your brother is under a lot of pressure now, you see. Don’t speak of the Targaryens for awhile, and all will be well. You understand?”

“Yes, uncle,” Renly replied. He wiped his cheeks. “Is Aemon in trouble?”

“Oh, I doubt it. You know how Lady Estermont is, Renly. She’ll blame the old gods and the new before she believes her little boy did wrong.”

They both laughed and Ser Harbert left to go attend to his duties. Ser Gawen walked him back to the castle. Just outside the doors, Renly paused and turned to his guard.

“I apologize for getting you in trouble, Ser Gawen,” Renly said after a few minutes. 

Ser Gawen scoffed. “Please. You two didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just that  _ Lord Stannis  _ can’t hear laughter or his ears’ll bleed.”

Renly laughed. “You think so?”

“I figure. Begging yours pardons, my lord, but I’d sooner have served a fishwife than your brother. It was Robert I pledged to, Robert I wanted to fight for, but I’m here as master-at-arms rather than fighting the real war outside these walls.”

“Robert will be back soon,” Renly informed him. “He said he wouldn’t be gone long. He said he’d bring me applecakes from King’s Landing.”

Ser Gawen frowned. “Oh, my little lord. Robert has to go Jon Connington and Aerys, damn him, and Prince Rhaegar. He has armies to command. He’ll be gone for a year, if not longer.”

Renly could feel his face fall. “No, no, Robert  _ said _ -”

“I am only telling you to make it easier, Renly,” Ser Gawen said. “I’m afraid we’ll both be stuck with Stannis for quite some time. And that’s if the damned Dragon king doesn’t get us first. Or Lord Tyrell, for that matter.”

Renly could feel tears well up in his eyes again and rubbed furiously at his eyes to stop them. He’d never seen either of his brothers cry. “You’re lying,” he whined. “Robert’s going to stop them all.”

“And if Mace Tyrell gets over our walls?” Gawen queried. He shrugged. “You should have been told all this, Renly. Child or no, you should know. Who’s your maester?”

“If Mace Tyrell gets over our walls Stannis will kill him!” Renly yelled. “Stannis wouldn’t let him get me!” He ran inside the castle, nearly knocking over his own nursemaid and a serving wench in the process. He dashed up the stairs and bounded into his room, slammed the door and threw himself on his bed. He grabbed a silken pillow and sobbed into it.

It couldn’t all be lies. It just couldn’t. Robert was the hero and Aerys was the bad one. He’d return soon. Maybe it wouldn’t be as quick as Renly thought, but a  _ year _ ? No. Robert would kill them all and if he took too long, Stannis would drive them all back and save him. 

He thought of all the times Stannis had made sure Renly ate his supper and went to bed before dark. He remembered how after Robert had struck him in the aforementioned dress-up event, Stannis had chastised - harshly - him as well, but done it while applying a salve from Maester Cressen to the hurt cheek. Only Stannis ever told him stories of mother and father. Robert never wanted to, and he didn’t ask Cressen or any of his kin because he could see it made them sad. 

Renly slowly clambered off his bed and cleaned his face of tears, then snuck down the hallway a few doors until he was standing before Stannis’s room. He knocked but let himself in.

Stannis looked up from the stack of papers he was evidently working on and sighed when he saw his brother. “Renly, you should always wait to be let in before entering a room.”

“Sorry,” Renly said. “And I’m sorry for playing Dragonknight with Aemon. I forgot about the Tar- about the…”

“The Targaryens,” Stannis finished. He rose from his chair. “You’re allowed to say their name.”

“The Targaryens. Yes. I forgot. I shouldn’t have played that stupid game. I’m sorry. I’ll tell Robert I’m sorry too, when he gets back.”

Stannis nodded sharply. “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go find Maester Cressen then. You missed your studies earlier today.”

Renly slumped. He’d forgotten about that. He dragged his feet as he walked down the hall, but stopped when he heard Stannis open the door and call “Renly.”

“Yes?”

Stannis looked like he’d swallowed a cup of sourleaf as he spit out, “There’s no need to tell Robert. It will be forgotten.”

“Oh.” Renly hadn’t expected that. “Really?”

“Yes.” Stannis looked at his feet then back at Renly. “To be honest, he would probably wouldn’t mind. He used to pretend to be Prince Aemon and he’d make me Sir Morghil or King Aegon and defeat me. He’d make one of our cousins play Naerys. Becca. She was of an age with us. You don’t remember her.”

Renly had a vague recollection of a girl with curly brown hair and purple eyes, but shook his head all the same. “No.”

Stannis grunted. “Children are children. I didn’t mean to scare you today.”

“I know,” Renly lied. In truth, sometimes it seemed Stannis got pleasure from the terror he could inflict. “You’re busy. I don’t mean to make trouble,” he said truthfully. “Well. Sometimes I do mean to make trouble, but not today.”

Stannis strode forward so quickly that Renly nearly drew back, but he only received a pat on the head. “Your nurse told me what you said to Ser Gawen.”

Renly blushed. 

“Mace Tyrell will not get you, Renly. You have the right of it there. I’ll kill him before.” Another pat on the head. “Go to bed.”

And so Renly did, dreaming of Stannis as his hero instead Prince Aemon.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Renly had only been on the small council for a month, but Stannis was already sure that any lingering delusions he’d had about Robert had been crushed in that time. 

Renly had once idolized their eldest brother. Stannis remembered doing the same once, before Robert became cruel to him, but he’d never loved him the amount Renly had.  He’d watch Robert swing around his warhammer with eyes the size of saucers and had once, at age four, demanded one of his own. Robert had indeed graced him with a somewhat small one for his thirteenth name-day, though Stannis was sure Renly had used it scarce - the boy was built tall and thick like his brothers, but not for lack of lounging around. Renly had grown to resemble a young Robert so closely that at times, rare as they were, Stannis mistook the two. 

He was sure Renly had heard that often, had overheard people tell his brother as much, and that surely swelled Renly’s perceptions of Robert even more. 

However, as the years passed and Robert became more and more of the drunken whoremonger he was, Stannis could see the stars fade from Renly’s eyes whenever he visited King’s Landing. Once, the boy had fancied Robert capable of anything, of loving him well. In truth, Robert hadn’t cared for Renly half so much anymore after he became capable of speech. It was Stannis that had been forced to look after his brother, though he was not like to get any credit for that. Forget that Stannis was the one who had protected Renly during the rebellion, after all.

And as he observed Renly stare blankly at the sleeping Robert sitting in his council chair, Stannis felt something akin to justice.  _ Let him see Robert for what he is. _

“Well,” Lord Arryn concluded after a time. Robert had been half coherent when he arrived, but after a few cups of wine, he’d begun snoring. Loudly. Jon Arryn looked ashamed and tired. “That will be all, my lords. Ser Meryn.”

Ser  Meryn, along with Jaime Lannister entered, took one look at the king, and understood their job. They hefted Robert by the arms and dragged him away gracelessly.

Varys rose and bowed to Lord Arryn, then stole away on slippered feet as silent as night. Pycelle left as well, though walked much slower. Absently, Stannis was reminded of Maester Cressen, and decided it had been too long since had sent the old man a raven. He wished for his company greatly. Jon Arryn stepped out, and Stannis followed suit, realizing only after he was in the hallway that Renly and Littlefinger had remained inside. 

“Lord Renly,” Baelish was saying. The doors to the chamber had remained open. “Our Lord Hand declared this meeting over.”

Stannis wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but he allowed himself to linger, if only, he told himself, to hear if Renly said anything about Robert. 

“Apologies, Littlefinger,” Renly said loudly. Stannis could hear his chair scoot across the floor - he’d stood and, presumably, managed to tear his eyes away from the spot their king had been in. “It was a dreadfully dull meeting, wouldn’t you say? One tends to drift away.”

“Of course, my lord,” Lord Baelish responded. Once, deep in his cups, Robert had remarked to Stannis that his master of coin sounded like a rat who knew something you didn’t. It had almost brought a smile to Stannis’s face, and it was never truer than then. His voice had the quality of making one nervous just upon hearing it. “It is easy for one to get distracted in these meetings. I, for one, couldn’t help but notice the brooch you have clapsed on. It’s quite lovely. May I ask, wherever did you get it?”

Stannis had noted the pin as well. It was a golden rose, the sigil of House Tyrell. It did not take a Maester to draw out the obvious conclusion. Rumors had sprung up of Renly’s...habits before, both in Storm’s End and in the Capitol, and Stannis had confronted Renly about them when he was fifteen. He’d walked into the lord’s chambers at Storm’s End and found only the dreadful Mace Tyrell’s youngest boy. Loras. Loras had explained sharply that Renly was busy and shut the door in his face. 

Not that that had ended Stannis’s input on the manner. Renly was his blood, and Stannis was not like to turn him over to the Faith, but he’d made his opinion clear on more than one occasion. Most notably, on Renly’s third day in the council, when he had proposed outlawing brothels and had received a definite refusal from everyone on the council, even Jon Arryn, he’d insisted that they at least ban male whores in the city. Lord Baelish had refused, and as had Varys, and after a few minutes of advice from the both of them Robert had gone against Stannis as well, but Renly had squirmed and taken long drains from his goblet of wine. Afterward, they hadn’t spoken for a fortnight. Renly’s silence was the only way he told you he was upset with you. 

Once, even, the boy had dared to make a jape about the closeness between Stannis and Ser Davos while supping at Dragonstone during a visit. Though he regretted it afterwards, Stannis had struck his brother. Ser Davos had blushed and excused himself. 

And now, Renly was saying, “Ah, this? It was a gift...from Margaery Tyrell, at my last visit to Highgarden. A beautiful girl.”

Stannis resisted snorting. 

“Yes, you do visit Highgarden often, don’t you?” Lord Baelish observed. 

“I confess I do, Littlefinger. Have you ever been there? Oh, well, of course not, I suppose.” Renly laughed. “Certainly the Tyrells haven’t sent for you. How sad.”

Stannis could almost see the forced smirk upon Lord Baelish’s lips. “It is sad indeed, my lord. I have heard much about the beauty of Highgarden and of its people. It’s said they have an abundance of brothels there.” 

“Of course you would know that, Littlefinger.”

“It’s something I tend to take note of, Lord Renly,” Baelish replied. “I have also noted the whore you’ve brought to court from Highgarden.”

“Pardon?”

“Why, the curly-haired blonde that steals into your tent during tourneys? Loras Tyrell, I believe his name is,” Lord Baelish said thoughtfully. 

Stannis could hear Renly’s intake of breath. “I’m afraid I haven’t a single idea what you’re carrying on about,” his brother managed to say. “But I do know you are speaking of a highborn knight, one rather skilled with both sword and lance. Perhaps you should mark your words more carefully, Lord Baelish.”

“Fear not, my lord,” Baelish said kindly. “We’ll keep this between ourselves, yes? It would be tragic for Ser Loras’s reputation if word got out that he was a...catamite, wouldn’t it?”

There was a scuffle. Stannis couldn’t see but deduced by the sounds, he deduced that Renly had shoved Petyr against a wall. There was a few moments of panted breaths, and then footsteps. Renly had let him go, apparently. The doors swung open and Stannis was face to face with Petyr Baelish. 

Lord Baelish showed little sign of surprise, and closed the doors behind him. “Lord Stannis,” he said, and then he was choking, trying desperately to suck in air as Stannis’s hands closed around his throat.

“Threaten my brother again,” Stannis said calmly, squeezing, “and I’ll have you killed.”

He released him, and Lord Baelish sputtered, took several long gasps, and finally straightened. “Good day, my lord,” he said, voice notably more high than it had been seconds earlier, and then Lord Baelish fled. 

Stannis stood for a second. He looked at the door for a moment, then decided Renly had been too engrossed in his thoughts to hear the commotion outside. He straightened his tunic and walked down the hall, off to compose his letter to Cressen. 

“Stannis.”

He whirled around only to see Renly poking his head out of the council room. 

“Thank you,” Renly said solemnly. It was rare for him to look so serious. “For- for Littlefinger.”

Stannis quirked an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Renly.”

Renly rolled his eyes. “Okay Stannis.”

“Truly, I don’t. Lord Baelish is a nuisance and I was defending Robert just then, not you. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Renly hummed, a maddening smile on his face. “My hero,” he called as he shut the doors. 

  
  
  


“You need to control that brother of yours,” Cersei said, sliding into her seat beside him. The birthing women had advised her to remain in bed for a week after the birth, but here she was, not two days after, gowned and drinking. A better man would’ve admired that, but Robert could not look at her without feeling a stabbing hatred. 

Robert took a deep gulp from his goblet and turned to her. Her gown was a light green, highlighting her eyes. Jewels were emblazoned in the neck and sleeves. Her tiara shone in the candlelight of the hall. Even so, a serving girl garbed in plain brown cotton walking by drew his eye more. Cersei saw where his gaze was pointed and glared at the poor girl. 

“Which one?” Robert slurred, tearing his eyes away. Both Stannis and Renly were here for the feast today, had come when Cersei had become great with child to welcome their new niece into the world. Renly had only recently celebrated his thirteenth name day, and had come to the capitol with baskets of gifts for  _ Myrcella _ , as Cersei had named her days ago. Stannis had gifted her a pony to ride when she was older, and some books. Robert had preferred Renly’s boxes of fruits and dolls and candies. He’d handed her to Renly to hold first after Joffrey had gotten a turn, which Stannis had ground his teeth about. 

Now, his middle brother was seated with his wife, two seats left of Robert, both of them frowning at anyone who came near them. Robert grunted. He and Renly were the charmers, not Stannis, though he didn’t figure he had half as much sway with the smallfolk these days as Renly. The boy was beside Selyse with his squire, Mace Tyrell’s boy, happily eating and drinking and telling stories to everyone near him and listening to the songs and smiling, always smiling. He’d tried to play with Joffrey earlier and came out of the boy’s room looking sheepish. “I don’t think he’s very taken with me,” he’d admitted to Robert with a sly grin. “He threw a wooden horse carving at me and demanded I let him beat me in the tourney tomorrow. I explained to him neither he nor I were old enough to compete and he threw a plate at me.” 

Stannis had greeted Joffrey in his solemn way, and later reported to Robert that he’d seen the boy hitting a dog with a stick in an otherwise empty hallway in the keep. He questioned Robert on whether the boy was always like that, and Robert had told him to fuck himself. Stannis had always been a pain in the king’s ass, but he could faintly recall a time when he played many a day away with his brother before he was fostered to Jon, and felt a pain in his gut at the memory. He remembered bruising half of Stannis’s face with a wooden sword once, just because Stannis hadn’t wanted to go riding.

Cersei clucked her tongue in disapproval, pulling Robert out of his thoughts. She sipped from her wine. “The _ lord _ of Dragonstone dared to ask me why our daughter was not named Cassana.”

Robert looked down the table at Stannis, but it seemed his brother had not heard. Dragonstone. Stannis had nearly shed a tear when Robert had given him the damn thing and hadn’t spoken to him for months afterward. Robert hadn’t meant it as a slight, but that was how his brother had taken it. He turned back to his wife. “He’s a bitter man. His wife might be barren, for all that she’s given him. Let him alone.” 

“I’ll do no such thing,” Cersei replied fiercely. “If he wants to name someone, perhaps he should take after you and go looking for some whore to get a bastard off, hmm?”

Robert slammed his goblet down, sloshing wine all over the tablecloth. She hadn’t forgotten Edric or Mya, and was not like to any time soon. “Woman,” he hissed. “Say something like that again and I’ll give your brother just cause to slay me.” He’d bruised his lady wife, his queen, just as he’d bruised Stannis. Seven damn him, why did he do this? He drained his goblet and yelled for a wench to refill it.

Cersei rolled her bright eyes at him and drank deeper. She’d been an sweet thing before they wed. He supposed he’d been sweet to maids once before as well. She swallowed and looked back at him. “Speaking of your brothers, I’d not have Renly alone with Joff again. I heard you let him attempt to play with my son?”

“Our son,” Robert chided gruffly. “Yes, I let him play with his damn nephew. Is that unnatural?”

“He’s unnatural,” Cersei said around a bite of her poached pears. “Those rumors of his...desires, they start up again every time he comes to the palace and you sit here and do nothing. Either discipline the boy or send him to the Watch to learn what a real man is.”

“They aren’t true anymore than the ones of your father shitting gold,” Robert snorted. “He’s my brother, I’d know if he was so queer. I’d ‘ave beaten it out of him in the name of my father if I thought he was. I’ll betroth him to some wench from his bannerman in a few years, you wait. Mind your tongue. Try to discipline Renly and I’ll discipline you.”

“Of course, you would be so craven to such things,” Cersei mused. “After all, you and Ned Stark, alone all those years in the Vale together, who knows what you-”

“I’m warning you.”

“You and Renly already look alike, it only makes sense. Add in Stannis as well, what’s the man he keeps with him? The Onion Knight? Lord Steffon would be so proud of the Baratheon boys. One a drunk, one a unsmiling wretch, and the youngest a sodomite. Perf-”

“Speak of my blood like that again and I’ll have your head!” Robert roared. The room silenced for just a moment, then continued it’s loud, boisterous noise like nothing had happened. A singer began The Ballad of Danny Flint and a dance started up.

Cersei, for her part, stood and whirled away, her wretched brother following her from across the room. Joffrey left as well, eyes distant though he went a different way. 

Robert sat back down heavily and called for more wine.

He pretended not to notice his brothers staring at him from down the length of the table. “Renly, are you going to go find a girl to dance with or will I have to make you?” he demanded, and his youngest brother hurried off to main floor with his squire, eyes downward. Robert eyed Stannis. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to go make friends, Stannis. Do you know how?”

Stannis rose and led his wife off, presumably to the apartments that had been given to them for their stay in the keep. 

Robert was alone at his table. 

The serving girl from earlier returned and filled his cup, offered him a toothy grin. She was a young thing, buxom and cheerful. “Your Grace,” she said, curtseying. 

“What’s your name, my lady?” he replied with a smile.

“I’m called Samma, if it please Your Grace.”

“Samma, have you any brothers or sisters?”

“No, Your Grace. My mother died birthing me and I don’t know my father.”

“Seven bless her,” Robert replied, pulling the girl into his lap and nuzzling into her neck. Her hair was thick and brown, just like Lyanna’s had been. “She saved you from a good deal of agony.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> *jazz hands* yeah idk
> 
> ever since i reread ACOK ive been having baratheon feelings so here u go
> 
> probs some jeyne poole/sansa stuff coming up next or maybe more baratheons idk idk idk
> 
> maybe i'll actually try and finish my jason todd fic but that's seems the most unlikely out of the pack


End file.
